


Long Exposure

by saltnhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Dom Castiel, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Model Castiel, Model Dean Winchester, Nude Modeling, Photographer Castiel, Photographer Charlie, Photography, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Dean, Top Castiel, maybe a little bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/saltnhalo
Summary: Nude model wanted for erotic photoshoot. All photographs will only be submitted for assessment at approval of model. Males and females welcome – must be willing to take directions. All photography will be undertaken in a safe studio, and at the pace and comfort of the model. Payment of $100 for two hours of work. Tear off a number if interested.





	Long Exposure

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted this to be a quick PWP to distract from my WIP. Instead, it turned out nothing like how I'd imagined, and took me nearly the whole week. But... hot damn.
> 
> I wanted to play with the idea of having Dean and Cas together in front of the camera - but don't worry, Cas can't resist taking a few snaps of his own...
> 
> Thank you to [Makenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepopeisdope/pseuds/thepopeisdope) for tearing it apart and making it better.
> 
> Enjoy.

_Nude model wanted for erotic photoshoot. All photographs will only be submitted for assessment at approval of model. Males and females welcome – must be willing to take directions. All photography will be undertaken in a safe studio, and at the pace and comfort of the model. Payment of $100 for two hours of work. Tear off a number if interested._

Throngs of students pass by as some of the last lectures of the day end, jostling Dean where he stands near to the edge of the hallway and stares at the ad. He takes no notice of the elbows and hips and bags that bump into him – his gaze is fixed on the neatly printed words and the strip of numbers along the bottom of the paper, pre-cut and ready to be torn off.

Dean never thought he’d be desperate enough to try modelling, and _especially_ not nude modelling. Sure, he’s attractive enough for the gig - he may be modest, but he’s not blind - but there’s something about taking his clothes off and being that vulnerable, that exposed, both inside and out, that scares him.

But no matter his feelings on modelling, his bank account is currently emptier than it’s ever been, even with his two bartending jobs, and a hundred dollars could go a long way right now. And if all he has to do is sit around naked for a bit... How hard could it be? Surely it’d be the easiest hundred he’s ever made. And if he wants to get his boyfriend a present for his upcoming birthday, he’s going to need it.

Still… He fidgets, shifting from foot to foot while he weighs his options. The halls are emptying out now; it’s just Dean and a handful of other students left lurking, and none of the others are even so much as looking in his direction.

Two of the strips bearing the photographer’s phone number have already been torn off. In a quick, hurried motion, Dean reaches out and rips off a third. He shoves it deep into his pocket, then turns and rushes off before he can overthink it too much. With every stride he takes away from the memo board, he feels the anxiety lift from his chest a little bit more.

 _I need the money_ , he tells himself. He really hopes his boyfriend doesn’t find out about this.

~~~

Dean arranges to meet the photographer on a Friday afternoon, after class. The person seems nice enough, their messages positive and reassuring, and it helps to put Dean a little more at ease for what he’s about to do. The photographer said to wear whatever he felt comfortable in, so when he turns up to the small studio specified by the address he was texted, it’s in a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans. At least he won’t have to wear anything weird or uncomfortable for this – he just hopes that the photoshoot isn’t going to be too invasive.

The breeze curls around him and ruffles at his hair as he steps out of his car and crosses the sidewalk to the small set of stairs leading up into the studio. Dean still can’t quite believe that he’s really doing this, that he’s going to go in there and be naked in front of a camera – but he’s here now, and there’s no going back. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then lifts a hand to knock on the front door.

A crash sounds from inside, followed by what Dean thinks is a series of muffled curses that he can only just hear through the door. He raises his eyebrows, beginning to seriously reconsider his choice to take part in whatever the hell is going on in there.

Before he can change his mind, though, the door is pulled open, and he finds a short, red-headed woman grinning up at him. “You must be Dean!” she beams, holding out a hand for him to shake.

“That’s me,” he replies, his words slow and unsure, as if he still isn’t certain that he shouldn’t be turning around right now and jumping back into his car instead of taking her hand. If the redhead notices his confliction, though, she doesn’t mention it.

“I’m Charlie,” she says, shaking Dean’s hand firmly before letting go and stepping out of the doorway for Dean to enter the studio. “Please, come in, it’ll just take me a few more minutes to get set up, and then we can get started.”

Dean bites the bullet and steps through the door.

Inside, the studio is bright and well-lit – not by the windows, which have all been covered by heavy cloth – but by a comprehensive series of lighting rigs all fixated on a wide, long couch coloured a deep green. That’s where he’s going to be posing naked for the next two hours. Dean swallows.

“If you wanna just go and sit down on the couch for a minute while I tidy up, you can,” Charlie tells him, closing the door behind them and striding past Dean like a woman on a mission towards one of the lights, which has toppled over. That must have been the crash that he heard earlier. “Sure,” he mumbles, pushing his hands deep into his pockets and making his way over to the couch, where he perches gingerly on the edge of it. He has to admit, though, it’s pretty damn comfortable.

He watches Charlie as she works, picking up the standing light off the ground and propping the wonky strut up against a side table. She has to stretch up onto her toes to wrestle the shade back over it, and Dean is about to offer to help when she sees him looking and grins at him over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Dean, I’ve got it. Man, I’m so excited to work with you, you’re prettier than Harrison freaking Ford! It’s gonna come up great on my camera.”

Is she flirting with him? God, he hopes not.

Still, Dean feels himself blushing hard, and he rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “I hope you mean Indiana Jones era Ford, and not The Force Awakens Ford,” he jokes – though, honestly, Harrison Ford is attractive no matter what his age and hair colour. Just… slightly less appealing as a seventy year old.

Charlie laughs as she tugs the shade properly over the light and sinks back down onto flat feet. “Trust me, Dean, you’re all Jones era.” She grins at him, and Dean has no idea how to react, because  damn it, now he’s _really_ sure he’s being flirted with. And that’s… well…

“Uh, that’s very flattering, Charlie.” His face must be beet red by now. It certainly feels like it. “But, uh, I… I gotta tell you… I’m kinda taken.”

There’s a moment of silence in the room as Charlie stares at him with her mouth half-open as she processes that, and then she bursts out into loud, vibrant laughter. Dean’s shoulders hunch – why is she laughing at that?

It takes her a minute to compose herself, and when she can look at Dean again, it’s with eyes made watery by tears of laughter. “Oh, Dean,” she says, shaking her head. “Sorry, man, but you’re really not my type. Too much dick, if you know what I mean.”

And now Dean feels like an idiot – but he can kinda see the humour in the situation, and gives a small, startled chuckle of his own.

“Right. Awesome.”

Once he knows he’s not being flirted with or objectified (except for Charlie’s bursts of excitement over being able to photograph him, which continues to make him blush) it’s much easier for Dean to relax. As Charlie sets up, they discuss Harrison Ford and – of course – Carrie Fisher, then branch out into the Star Wars franchise as a whole. Like Dean, Charlie is a card-carrying geek, and that knowledge helps him feel much more confident around her.

The nerves only rise up again in the pit of his stomach when Charlie sits down beside him and explains how the shoot is going to work. The knowledge that he can tap out at any time for a break or a complete stop is reassuring, as is Charlie’s promise that the poses will be artistic and cultured, instead of bawdy.

Once their little chat is over and Charlie is confident that she’s both gone over all the rules and details, and that Dean is ready for the camera, there’s no delaying any longer.

The lights are all focused on Dean, and when he stands up in front of the lounge, Charlie tilts her head, appraising him. “One second,” she tells him, her brows furrowed in concentration as she moves around the small space and adjusts the lights until it seems that she’s happy with them. She flashes him a grin, then lifts her camera to her face. “Alright, Dean. Clothes off, nice and slow.”

The lights and the camera are distracting, and Dean knows that his hands are clammy with nerves as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. He tries to focus on the grounding sensation of the wooden floorboards beneath his bare feet, and slowly pulls his shirt up, doing his best to ignore the click of the shutter. He only gets halfway before Charlie’s soft voice tells him to pause, and Dean freezes in position, fingers wrapped around the hem of his shirt and gaze downcast.

Charlie fiddles with her camera for a few seconds, then makes a pleased sound and takes a few steps to Dean’s right – she must want to try out a few different angles. Dean can feel himself sweating under the lights already, and the sooner he can get this shirt off, the better. Finally, she gives him the go ahead, and he pulls his shirt off the rest of the way, Charlie shooting all the while.

That wasn’t so bad. Next come the jeans. Dean hopes that his expression doesn’t betray just how anxious he is about being naked in front of a camera, and for the most part, he tries to look away from the camera, or keep his gaze downcast. It must not be looking too terrible – if Charlie wanted something different, he’s sure she’d tell him, so he continues. He smooths his hands down his chest and stomach, towards the waistband of his jeans, silently grateful for the combination of a lack of spending cash and an at-home exercise routine that have resulted in a mostly-lean figure.

At Charlie’s request, Dean pauses again as his hands reach his waistband, and she gets a few shots of him looking at the camera with his thumbs tucked into his belt loops, into the waistband of his jeans, then slowly unzipping his fly.

Thankfully, he’s not hard – he’d probably die of mortification if he were – and so it’s still not that awkward when Charlie gets a few different shots from different angles of his jeans falling to the ground, and then him in just his boxer briefs.

“Gonna need those off, Dean,” she says, her voice calm and steady, like she’s soothing a skittish animal. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Now or never.

Dean takes a deep breath and pulls off his underwear, tossing it to the side with the rest of his clothes. He feels way too exposed like this, and wraps his arms self-consciously around his torso; Charlie snaps a photo. “You’re doing great,” she tells him, and the smile she gives him when she drops the camera for a moment is so sincere and reassuring that he almost starts to believe it.

From then on, they get a few different poses of Dean standing up, and then Charlie encourages him to lie back on the lounge. Dean follows her gentle directions with increasing ease, slowly growing accustomed to the nudity and the sound of the shutter, sometimes whirring with shots in rapid succession, sometimes giving only one of two clicks. It’s easy to lose himself to.

Everything is going well, and Dean is sprawled back on the couch with one arm tucked behind his head and his other hand resting on his thigh, framing his soft cock. Charlie is hovering close by, completely fixated on her camera, while Dean watches the lens with a half-lidded gaze. Neither of them notice the door to the studio open and close, until a voice shatters the small bubble of calm that Dean has managed to find.

“Dean?”

Castiel is standing by the door of the studio, his eyes wide and a bag of takeout in his hands from the Chinese place just down the street from his apartment. His gaze is fixed on Dean, who is frozen in place, his blush spreading up to the tips of his ears and down his throat. Cas’s head is titled a little as he looks from Dean to Charlie, who is scowling at him.

“Cas, I told you, you have to knock,” Charlie snaps, though the smell of takeout seems to placate her somewhat, and she’s so distracted that she only realizes the implications of Cas’s greetings as she’s reaching for the bag in his hand.

“Wait, you two know each other?”

Dean hadn’t told Cas about this, hadn’t wanted him to know that he was modelling nude for money – he was embarrassed enough about it already, and didn’t need Cas asking questions about _why_.

Castiel’s gaze returns to Dean, and there’s a softness and confusion to it that makes Dean’s heart ache. He turns his head aside slightly, ashamed that he kept this from Cas.

“Dean is my boyfriend,” Cas murmurs softly, and now it’s Charlie’s turn to stare at them both, wide-eyed. She gestures at Dean where he’s still sitting on the couch. “You mean, the Dean you haven’t shut up about for the past six months?”

The silence stretches out between the three of them, and eventually Charlie clears her throat. “I’m gonna give you guys a minute to talk,” she says quietly, taking the bag of takeout and her camera with her to a secluded corner of her studio, where her laptop is set up. It leaves Dean and Cas relatively alone, and Dean knows that there’s no way to avoid his boyfriend now. He heaves out a long sigh and shifts so that he’s sitting on the edge of the couch. Cas joins him, the fabric of his white shirt brushing against Dean’s shoulder as his fingers toy idly with the knot of his blue tie, loosening it.

Cas is the first one to speak, turning his head to look at Dean with those deep, soulful blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were modelling for Charlie?” he asks – it doesn’t sound as though he’s mad at Dean, but Cas has an uncanny talent for recognizing when there’s something wrong.

“Well, firstly, I had no idea you were friends,” he points out, leaning against Cas’s shoulder and giving him a small smile. Cas hums, and raises his arm to rest it across Dean’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “We were friends in high school,” he tells Dean. “She only recently moved here, and she’s been thrown right into the middle of her assignments, so she’s been too busy to catch up properly. I would have introduced you sooner, I think you would get along well.”

Dean thinks of the Star Wars discussion and smiles to himself, but it disappears again when Cas taps him gently on the shoulder. “But why are you here in the first place, Dean? And why didn’t you tell me?”

At this point, he doesn’t see any way around telling Cas the truth. “I wanted to be able to afford a good birthday present for you,” he admits, embarrassed. When he looks up at his boyfriend, though, he finds that Cas’s expression is soft, and there’s a gentle smile curling his lips.

“That’s very sweet of you, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, and he ducks his head to press a gentle kiss to Dean’s mouth. When he pulls back, though, his expression looks thoughtful, and a moment later, it becomes downright wicked. Dean is well acquainted with that expression – it makes his cheeks heat, and his cock half-hardens against his thigh.

Castiel must notice his reaction, because the corner of his mouth lifts up, just barely, into a smirk. “I can think of a great birthday present. What if I stay here and model with you, Dean?”

And _holy shit_ , that sounds like the best idea ever, the thing wet dreams are made of. Dean’s mouth goes dry at the way Cas is watching him, waiting for an answer – like a predator mid-stalk, like there are storms contained within those blue eyes. He holds himself like a promise, in the set of his shoulders and the straightness of his spine, and all of Dean’s breath leaves him in a sudden exhale.

“That sounds amazing.” 

Cas arches his eyebrow, and Dean knows that he’s going to be in for a wild ride.

“Charlie,” Cas calls, and Dean turns his head just slightly so that he can see her where she turns away from her computer, lifting her headphones off her head. “I’m going to be joining Dean for his photoshoot, if you don’t mind. If you want more solo photos, I can wait, but…” His sentence trails off, and the look he gives Dean makes him shiver. Even though Dean is the one currently holding Cas’s wrist in his grasp, Cas is the one with the power, and it thrills him to no end.

Charlie narrows her eyes at them and sets her headphones aside, jabbing a finger at Cas from across the room. “I’m not being your porn photographer, okay? If you stay, you keep it clean, and you follow my orders.” Her tone is serious, and Castiel gives an equally serious nod of his head – though the barest hint of a grin is still playing at the corners of his mouth. “Of course.”

Dean can hardly believe his luck. He’ll feel a lot more comfortable in front of the camera with Cas by his side – though it might be more than a little distracting to have his boyfriend naked and still have to follow Charlie’s instructions.

“Okay,” Charlie concedes, grabbing her camera from where she left it beside her laptop and making her way back over to the makeshift photography space with the lights and the couch. Cas pulls him up off the couch with gentle hands, and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead as Charlie gets herself set up. Despite the soft gestures, Dean can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation coil in his gut. The look in Castiel’s eyes suggests that he has something in mind – and Dean is, of course, correct.

As soon as Charlie says, “Alright, Cas,” Castiel is moving, lifting his hands to his tie and loosening it enough to slip it over his head. Dean figures it’s just Cas beginning to undress himself – so he isn’t expecting it when Cas places it around his neck, the loose knot falling to his sternum and the blue tail of the tie trailing down his chest. He’s so focused on Cas that he barely registers the fact that Charlie has started taking photos again.

His boyfriend adjusts the knot, tightening it so that it’s sitting just below Dean’s clavicle, and there’s something powerful about the way that Castiel is still nearly fully dressed, albeit casually with his rolled-up sleeves, while Dean is naked save for the tie encircling his throat. There’s something akin to awe in Cas’s eyes as he takes the end and loops it once around his hand, and Dean knows that the same feeling must be mirrored in his own gaze, as he waits for Cas to move, speak, anything. Cas is in charge right now, that much is obvious.

The corner of Cas’s mouth lifts in a smirk, and he’s pulling on the tie that’s wrapped around his hand. Dean has barely any time to react, and only just manages to bring his hands up in order to catch himself on Cas’s chest as he’s tugged forwards by the tie tightening around his neck. There’s a challenge in Cas’s eyes, and Dean’s lips part, his cheeks flushed.

_Click._

The silk fabric of the tie tightens around his throat ever so slightly, and Dean’s breath hitches. Castiel’s tongue sweeps across his bottom lip in response, his gaze fixed on Dean as though Charlie isn’t even in the room with them, constantly snapping photos. “You’re beautiful, Dean,” Cas whispers, and Dean makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. The man’s eyes go dark, and then there’s a hand curling possessively around his hip, and lips brushing against his, and Dean melts against Cas.

The kiss is soft, but every movement of it is dictated by Cas, and when the man finally pulls back enough to put distance between them, Dean is pink-cheeked and panting and unashamedly hard. Cas glances down between them, to where the tip of Dean’s cock is brushing his shirt and smearing a spot of precome across the white fabric. The look he gets when Castiel lifts his gaze is awestruck and hungry, and Dean shivers, fingers curling into the fabric of Cas’s shirt.

“I think I’m wearing a little too much here, don’t you?” Cas asks, his voice a deep, earthen rumble. Suddenly, all Dean can think about is how wonderful Cas looks without clothes, how many mornings he’s spent sprawled out beside the man in Cas’s bed, admiring the both the perfections and imperfections of Castiel’s body – from his flat stomach to the small freckle by his nipple.

“Dean.” Cas’s tone is firm, and his grip on the tie tightens enough to bring Dean back into the moment. “I asked you a question.”

Dean blinks, casting his mind back, and realizes that Cas had indeed asked him a question. “Yes,” he blurts out, his eyes wide, and Cas’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Definitely too many clothes.” When Dean gives his answer, Cas’s hold on the tie loosens just a little, enough to tell Dean that he gave the right response. It’s not yet been tight enough to even hint at cutting off his airway; just enough to warn Dean, to reprimand him. It’s so heady, for Dean to be relinquishing his power to Cas, and he always loves it.

Cas’s thumb strokes across Dean’s hipbone, back and forth. “Are you going to help me out with that, Dean?” the man murmurs.

Dean’s hands are moving to the buttons of Cas’s shirt before he can even properly process the question, and while his cheeks go pink and his gaze drops shyly, he doesn’t pause in undoing the buttons until the shirt is hanging open and exposing Cas’s torso.

“Good,” Cas breathes, and Dean feels the praise sink deep into his bones, revels in the warm feeling it elicits as Cas gives him a moment of reprieve to gather himself. When Dean’s lashes flutter, and he lifts his gaze back up to Cas’s eyes, the man is waiting patiently. “And my pants?”

Now is Dean’s chance to tease Castiel a little, to give him a taste of his own medicine after all the tie-pulling that has left him hard and aching.

He bites down on his bottom lip and, still maintaining eye contact with Cas, sinks to his knees. The man’s grip on the tie goes slack with shock, and Cas’s mouth has fallen open, a soft groan falling from his lips as Dean settles onto his knees. His hands come up to rest on Cas’s strong thighs, then slide upwards towards the fly of Cas’s trousers – Dean is faintly aware of Charlie’s camera shutter whirring furiously, but with the way Cas is looking at him right now, he can’t find it in him to be self-conscious.

“God, Dean,” Cas whispers, his voice slightly strangled. “How are you even real?” One of his hands drops to rest lightly in Dean’s hair, the other tugging gently on the end of the tie as Dean’s deft fingers unbutton his pants and slide the zipper down.

Now that his pants are hanging precariously from his hips and unzipped, Dean can see the way that Cas’s erection strains at his boxer briefs. There’s a small damp spot at the head, and Dean wants to reach out and drag his tongue over it, but before he can, Cas’s hand in his hair tightens and tugs. Dean gasps, his head tipping back and eyelashes fluttering. Regardless of what he desires, he follows Cas’s guiding hands and returns to his feet, swaying a little close to the man.

Castiel is looking at Dean with wide, dark eyes, and there are spots of colour on his cheeks now as he leans close and presses his lips to the shell of Dean’s ear.

“Patience, Dean,” Cas breathes, and Dean shivers at the heavy promise in Cas’s voice.

“Now, lie down on the couch.” Castiel lets go of his hold on the tie, and Dean wastes no time in doing as he’s told, propping himself up on one elbow where he’s sprawled back on the couch. He can see Charlie just behind Cas, outside the pool of light – no doubt capturing his expression as he watches Cas shrug off his shirt and pull off his shoes and socks, then his pants, then his boxers. Cas’s cock springs free, already hard and weeping and curving up towards his stomach.

When Dean involuntarily makes a soft, needy sound, Cas smirks at him. The fucker takes his time, though, neatly folding his clothes and placing them beside Dean’s haphazard pile before he turns back towards the couch. His paces are measured and even, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat as Cas stretches himself out along Dean’s body, bracketing him in against the couch but holding himself just out of reach.

Dean arches up towards him, reaching for Cas with one hand – but Cas catches him by the wrist and pins it to the couch, smirking down at him.

The camera shutter clicks one last time, then stops. Why has it stopped?

Dean’s brows pull down into a slight frown, and he turns his head towards Charlie, who has set her camera down on the side table amongst all her equipment and is currently rifling through a white envelope. When she catches Dean looking at her, confused, she pulls a fond but exasperated face and pokes an accusatory finger at him. “You’ve corrupted him, Dean,” she teases. “He was never like this in high school.”

She counts out a handful of notes and sets them down on top of Dean’s shoes, then grabs her laptop from the corner and picks up the bag of takeout from where she’d left it. “I’m going out for lunch, I’ll be back in an hour. Cas, if you’re going anywhere, lock the studio after you, and for the love of god, don’t get any stains on my set. Peace out, bitches.” And with that, Charlie throws up a Vulcan salute, grabs her bag, and beats a hasty retreat out the door.

They both stare for a second at the closed door, and Dean blinks as he processes what’s just happened. When he glances back up after a few moments, he finds Cas still watching the door. “Charlie is wonderful,” he muses, seemingly to himself. It takes Dean tapping him on the chest with his free hand to pull his attention back. Cas smiles down at Dean from where he’s still sprawled out atop Dean, his dark bangs brushing his forehead and one eyebrow raised. “Was there something you wanted?” he asks, though there’s an undercurrent to the fond tone of his voice that reflects the slight upwards twitch of one eyebrow.

Dean grins, wriggling a little underneath Cas and making a point of his state of arousal – it goes without saying that he’s much more comfortable without Charlie around. “Well, now that we have the place to ourselves…”

He lets the sentence hang, his grin edging into a smirk, and the look in Cas’s eyes open sharpens. “Charlie’s right,” he muses, “you are a bad influence.”

Dean isn’t sure if that’s quite true – Cas is no blushing virgin, not by a _long_ shot, and _definitely_ not around Dean. But still, he plays along, lifting one hand with the intention to drag it through Cas’s slightly unruly hair just like he’s been dying to since his boyfriend stepped beneath the lights with him.

And then Cas is catching his wrist and pinning his other hand to the couch, and all the breath leaves Dean’s lungs, because suddenly they’re not just messing around any more.

“Cas,” he breathes, his heart skittering against his ribcage at the look his boyfriend gives him. “Ah, ah,” Castiel chastises with a shake of his head. “What did I say, Dean? Patience.” It’s the tone of voice that Cas pulls out whenever things get intense between them, whenever sex escalates from lazy morning sex, or tender sex, or fumbling, half-drunk quickie sex.

It’s the tone Cas uses when he wants to take his time.

Dean forces his muscles to relax and sinks back into the couch. In response, Cas gives a pleased sound and loosens his hold on Dean’s wrists just a little. “Good,” he purrs, and the praise brings a flush of colour to Dean’s cheeks and a burst of warmth to his chest. Castiel must feel that Dean’s relaxation and submission deserves a reward, because he leans down to claim Dean’s mouth in a slow, languid kiss. His tongue sweeps across the seam of Dean’s lips; a gentle demand but a demand nonetheless, and one that Dean yields to.

The kiss is easy to lose himself to as he slides his tongue against Cas’s and tries to arch up towards his body for any point of contact – when Cas finally pulls back, Dean’s chest is heaving, and the world feels as though it’s spinning slightly around him. Castiel is watching him with dark eyes, and his grip on Dean’s wrists still hasn’t wavered. Dean doesn’t care if he’s reprimanded, if he’s breaking Cas’s rules; he feels like he’s going to shake apart with need, and gives a long, low whine in the back of his throat. “Cas, please.”

This time, Cas takes pity on him, because he presses one more chaste kiss to Dean’s lips, then releases Dean’s wrists. There’s a wicked glint in his eye, though, and Dean barely has time to process what it could mean before Cas is sliding down the length of his body and taking Dean’s aching cock into his mouth. All of a sudden, there are lips closing around his shaft, and Cas is tonguing teasingly at the head of his cock and over the slit.

Dean makes a strangled sound and claws at the upholstery, gifted only with further frustration as Castiel’s strong hands pin his hips to the bed and keep him from sinking his cock further into his boyfriend’s mouth.

The fucker’s only response is to smirk up at Dean, shoot him a wink, and swirl his tongue over the head of Dean’s cock in an absolutely _filthy_ move that has Dean nearly shaking. He’s been hard almost ever since Cas walked in, and if he’s not allowed to come soon, he may just explode.

But Cas obviously has other ideas. His brows quirk mischievously, and then Dean’s groans as he pulls off. With Cas’s hands no longer keeping his hips pinned, they stutter pitifully up into the air, but his boyfriend is already off the couch and grabbing something off the side table. Dean twists and cranes his neck to try and see what it is.

His eyes go wide when Cas turns, holding Charlie’s camera in his hands.

Nimble fingers fiddle with the camera settings as Cas makes his way back to the couch and settles between Dean’s splayed legs, not once looking up. When he does, it’s through the lens of the camera, pointed straight at Dean along the length of his body. Dean grins and shoots the camera a wink, chuckling as Cas snaps a photo and then lowers the camera from his face. “Fancy yourself a photographer, hmm?”

Cas makes a soft, non-committal noise as he examines the camera for a few more seconds, then sets it down by Dean’s hip. “When the subject is so stunning, how can I not?” It’s said with such frank honesty that Dean can feel himself blushing, and he drops his gaze slightly. How Cas can blindside him with _feelings_ like that in what has so far been some hot and heavy action never ceases to amaze him.

Castiel’s warm hand smooths gently over Dean’s abdomen, and then he’s moving, bracketing Dean in with his forearms as he brings their faces closer together. “You are, though, Dean,” he whispers, and Dean stretches up for a kiss, silencing his words.

Cas presses them into his lips anyway.

Somewhere between Dean’s fingers threading gently into Cas’s hair and Cas’s hand finding Dean’s cock, the kiss turns heated, overflowing with desire and promise as Dean muffles cries and moans against Cas’s mouth. Castiel’s lips graze over Dean’s jaw as he twists his hand on the upstroke. “Such a pity we don’t have any lube,” he rumbles against Dean’s throat. In the clouded haze of his mind, Dean is somehow able to grab onto that thought, and pushes Castiel back with fingers splayed across his chest.

Castiel looks confused and concerned, but he doesn’t protest the hand, and when he sees that Dean is still smiling, he relaxes. “About that,” Dean murmurs, his voice equal parts coy and shy. “I, uh… I might have a packet of lube and a condom in my wallet?”

Cas is gone in an instant, and Dean laughs in surprise as his boyfriend makes a beeline for his messy heap of clothes. “Bit eager there, babe,” he teases, and is hit in the chest by a flying condom in retaliation. “Can you blame me?” Cas growls as he tosses Dean’s wallet aside and returns to the couch with the lube packet. “I walked in here to see you naked and sprawled across this couch like a goddamn _Adonis_ , Dean. I’d never had the blood leave my head quite so fast.”

Firm hands are nudging his bowed legs open even wider, but Dean is too busy laughing to notice – that is, until he feels the brush of a lubed-up fingertip across his hole. The laugh quickly dissolves into a breathy moan as the finger slowly slides into him, his hips bucking up into it to press it deeper. “Fuck, _Cas_ ,” he groans, his eyes sliding closed in bliss, and Castiel’s answering moan is deep and gravelly. Dean lets the pleasure wash over him as Cas slowly stretches him open, first with one finger, then with a second.

So lost in the sensation is he that he doesn’t feel Cas shifting on the couch until there’s the snapping sound of the camera shutter, and his eyes fly open to see his boyfriend smirking at him over the camera, two fingers still buried deep in Dean’s ass. “Capturing the moment, huh?” Dean tries to quip, but his voice is somewhat breathy, and the quip loses its impact when Cas crooks his fingers slightly and the ‘huh’ morphs into a choked sound. Castiel looks far too smug – so he definitely isn’t expecting it when Dean managed to gather together enough brain cells to reach up and snatch the camera from his grasp, turning the lens on his boyfriend.

Cas’s eyes widen in shock for a moment, then narrow into amusement. “You want to photograph me?” he asks. “I’ll give you something to photograph.”

When he drops his head and takes Dean’s cock into his mouth all the way down to the base, Dean nearly drops the camera. He only just manages to keep it from falling to the couch, and raises it to his face with trembling hands as Castiel’s tongue sweeps in lavish strokes across his shaft. What was meant to turn the table and give Cas a taste of his own medicine has evidently backfired when Cas smirks at him through the camera lens and hollows his cheeks.

Dean thinks he got the photo before the sensation of a mouth around his cock and three fingers in his ass forced him to put the camera aside for fear of breaking it – but he can’t be quite sure.

His world is a haze of pleasure, the lights around them blinding him when he looks at them too closely, and illuminating Cas’s eyes in a brilliant azure as the man takes him apart piece by piece. When Dean reaches the point of trembling with need, nails scrabbling at the green upholstery or fingers tugging desperately at Castiel’s hair, his boyfriend finally takes mercy on him. The sudden absence of such intense pleasure leaves Dean nearly sobbing, and he gasps in heaving breaths as the world solidifies around him once again.

“Shh.” Cas soothes him with a kiss to his sternum, then taps one hand gently on Dean’s hip. “Turn over for me?”

It takes a few moments for Dean to get his limbs to agree, but he manages it, rolling over onto his elbows and knees. He gives a shuddering breath as Cas’s hand traces his spine in wordless praise, and the crinkle of foil behind him. Cas’s hands grip his hips more firmly, and then there’s a blunt pressure at his entrance, and Dean moans long and low as he presses back against it and feel Cas slide into him, stretching him wide. There’s a soft huff of breath and a curse as Dean presses his ass back against the jut of Cas’s hips and holds himself there, relishing the stretch and the feeling of fullness.

“Amazing, Dean.” There are lips brushing over the knobs of his spine, the click of a camera shutter, Cas’s hand sliding slick over his hips, and Dean whimpers. He just wants Castiel to _move_ , damn it. Cas gives a soft, placating sound, the weight distribution shifts across the cushion beneath Dean’s knees, and a hand settles into his hair. And then it tugs, _hard_ , and Cas is pulling out halfway and slamming back in and Dean is crying out at the perfection of it all.

Dean can only hold on tight to the couch for purchase, bunching the green upholstery between his grasping fingers as Castiel fucks him, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Every one of Cas’s thrusts punches a shocked moan out of him, and he cries out as his boyfriend’s thick cock slides over his prostate. “Cas, fuck, fuck me,” he gasps, wanting it harder, faster, desperate to come.

Instead, Castiel’s thrusts slow, as if he’s thinking about something. Dean chokes out a needy sound as the hand leaves his hair, but as soon as Cas reaches down into his field of vision and grabs the dangling end of the blue tie still around Dean’s neck, his breath hitches.

The tie twists until the knot is resting over the top of Dean’s spine, and then Cas is pulling gently on it, encouraging Dean to sit up on his knees until his back is pressed against Cas’s chest. The gentle pressure of the tie keeps him there, and the angle has Dean sinking down another impossible inch onto Castiel’s cock. They each groan in unison, and Cas bands his other arm across Dean’s chest, then resumes his movement. While it’s more difficult for him to fuck Dean with the speed and power that he had been previously, he makes up for it with a dirty grind of his hips that Dean’s pretty sure is completely short-circuiting his brain.

Each slow grind of Cas’s hips brings him closer to his orgasm – which isn’t very far away, considering how strung out Cas had made him with just his mouth and hands. It only takes a few well-aimed thrusts from Cas that slide just so over his prostate, and Dean is coming with a choked-out cry across his abdomen. Castiel moans as Dean’s muscles clench down around him, his rhythm stuttering to a halt. Sweat-damp hair presses into the space between his shoulder blades, ragged breaths puffing against his skin. They stay like that for a few long moments as Dean rides out his orgasm, and then there are gentle hands pressing Dean back down against the couch.

Dean is loose and pliant as Castiel drives back into him with long, firm thrusts, and it doesn't take long at all before his movements become erratic. Without warning, Cas pulls out, leaving Dean whining into the couch at the sudden emptiness.

When Cas’s come stripes across his back only moments later, he’s quick to decide that maybe he shouldn’t have been so upset after all. There are a few moments of heavy silence, punctuated only by rough, ragged breathing. The camera shutter clicks a few times, and then there’s a strong hand smoothing along his side, lips brushing over the small of his back.

“Holy shit,” Dean mumbles when he finally manages to get his breath back, and he can feel Cas chuckle against his skin. “Holy shit is right.”

~~~

Dean’s phone buzzes in his hand, startling him out of his half-asleep state as an email notification appears at the top of the screen. He rubs at his eyes and sits up a little further in bed, jabbing at the notification with his thumb to open it.

It’s from Charlie.

There are five files attached just below the greeting. The first three are all of Dean. There’s one of him halfway through pulling off his shirt, his gaze lowered and lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones, one with his arms wrapped self-consciously around his torso, and the last is him sprawled back on the couch, smouldering at the camera.

Then there are two of him and Cas; Cas has his chin lifted, the end of the blue tie wrapped his hand. In the photo, Dean looks shocked, his eyes wide, lips parted, and hands braced against Cas’s chest. In the last photo, though, the tables seems to have turned. Cas’s grip on the tie has slackened, and his other hand rests loosely in Dean’s hair, his gaze hooded as Dean smirks up at him from where he’s kneeling on the floor.

_These are the ones I want to use for my assignment. Let me know if that’s okay._

That’s not the end of the message, though. Below that are another two lines of text.

_By the way – I figured you guys might want these more than I do._

_PS. Tell Cas he owes me one dry-cleaning bill._

Dean frowns – what the hell is she talking about? Then his thumb bumps the screen, scrolling down just a little to reveal another five attached files.

Dean’s face goes bright red.

There’s him grinning at the camera. That’s by far the least incriminating photo.

In the next, he has his head thrown back, his expression one of bliss in sharp focus and the blue tie askew across his chest. Slightly more blurry are the two fingers Cas has knuckle-deep in his ass.

Dean has never been quite so mortified and aroused at the same time.

The third photograph shows Castiel looking at the camera, his expression somehow managing to convey a smirk even with his lips wrapped around Dean’s cock. It’s slightly blurry – Dean recalls having dropped the camera pretty quickly after he took this photo.

The next one is the photo that really makes Dean blush. It’s been taken from Castiel’s point of view, showing him from the chest down and Dean’s ass pressed right up against his hips.

It suddenly feels too hot in Cas’s bedroom.

The last photograph is the one that has the most thought put into it – likely because Cas had time to compose it, since Dean hadn’t felt at all like moving at the time. It’s a shot of Dean’s back, the light playing over his muscles and his freckles and highlighting the contrast of Cas’s come striped across his tanned skin.

It’s at that point that Cas comes wandering back into the bedroom, bearing two mugs of coffee. Upon seeing Dean and his bright pink cheeks, Cas raises an eyebrow, and comes to sit next to Dean on the bed. “What’s going on?”

Wordlessly, Dean takes his mug of coffee and places his phone in Castiel’s hand. As Cas browses the images – laughing at Charlie’s complaint of a soiled couch – Dean sips at his coffee. “I think I have a career in photography,” Castiel muses, his lips twitching up into a grin. Dean leans over to see which one he’s talking about, and huffs out an embarrassed sigh at the sight of his back striped with Cas’s come. “Sure, babe,” he mutters, though there’s a definite smile on his lips as he lifts the coffee mug back to his mouth.

When he glances over at Cas again, he sees his boyfriend texting all the photos to his own phone. Castiel looks up, and grins as he meets Dean’s curious gaze.

“I think I’m going to get these framed.”

Dean really hopes he’s joking.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, leave a kudos or a comment!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Excessively Long Exposure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12574552) by [haikuhamster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haikuhamster/pseuds/haikuhamster)




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